52 Reasons to Hate My Father Page 17

  Luke returns to the dressing room to grab his suit and I wander up to the counter to check out a display of sunglasses. I pick out the perfect pair to complement his new outfit and place them on the counter. Luke reappears a few moments later, still in his outfit, and asks the salesgirl if he can wear the clothes out of the store.

  “Of course!” she says with a bubbly little bounce as she grabs a pair of scissors and proceeds to cut the tags off so she can ring them up.

  I slide the sunglasses forward. “He’ll take these as well.”

  Luke raises one eyebrow at me. “Sunglasses?” he questions. “At night?”

  “Trust me.”

  He holds up his hands. “You’re the boss.”

  I laugh. “At least until Monday morning, right?”

  Luke pulls out his wallet to pay for his new wares right as my cell phone beeps. I check the screen to find a text message from Morty, the owner of the flower shop.

  “Oh,” I say, somewhat surprised. “Morty just texted me. His evening driver didn’t show up and he has a few more deliveries that need to be made. Would you mind dropping me back there? I can call Kingston for a ride home when I’m done.”

  Luke signs his credit card receipt. “Of course not. In fact, I’ll go with you.”

  I give him a skeptical look. “To deliver flowers?”

  He shrugs. “Sure, why not.”

  I nod toward his trendy ensemble. “What about your gallery opening?”

  The salesgirl folds his suit and places it in a shopping bag. He takes it from her and glances at his watch. “I don’t have to be there for another two hours. Besides, after that inspiring status report of yours today, how could I pass up an opportunity to see what all the fuss is about?”

  “Well,” I say with a lighthearted chuckle, “those are three words I never thought I’d hear in the same sentence.”

  Luke’s forehead crumples. “What?”

  “Inspiring status report.”

  DISCONNECTED

  For the next hour and a half Luke and I circle the west side, delivering delightful gifts to unsuspecting people. There’s Beatrice in Beverly Hills whose husband is sorry about missing dinner the night before. Margaret in Santa Monica turned eighty and her grandson, who’s away at college, sent a vase of beautiful white calla lilies (her favorite flower). The Carson family just moved into their gorgeous new home in Cheviot Hills and were welcomed to the neighborhood by the homeowners’ association. And my favorite delivery of the night is twelve-year-old Nessa in Culver City who received a dozen red roses from a secret admirer. Seeing that girl’s face light up when she read the card was like seeing the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree light up in November.

  I watch Luke’s reactions carefully throughout the evening. I can tell he’s completely enjoying himself. There’s really no way not to enjoy a job like this. The look on someone’s face when they open their front door and see you standing there with that bouquet of flowers in your hand is an instant mood shifter.

  Like a drug.

  And it has to be because Luke and I have never gone this long without saying something nasty to each other. In fact, we spend most of the evening laughing. Only a mood-altering substance could do something like that—turn mortal enemies into giggling allies.

  When all the orders have been delivered, apart from one whose recipient wasn’t home, we climb into the cab of Morty’s van and head back to the flower shop.

  “I want to tell you something,” Luke says as I turn onto Washington Boulevard and head toward the freeway, “but I’m afraid it’s going to come out wrong.”

  I give him a sideways glance. “Luke, I just saw you shirtless. Spit it out.”

  He laughs. “Okay.” He takes a breath. “I wanted to say that I’m proud of you.”

  I give him a strange look. “For what?”

  “For learning how to make the most of what you’re doing. When we first started working together, you were exactly how I expected you to be.”

  “And how exactly did you expect me to be?” I ask coyly.

  He teeters his head from side to side. “You know … spoiled, ungrateful, bitchy…”

  “The usual?” I confirm with a smirk.

  He laughs. “Yeah, I guess. I mean when your father told me what he wanted me to do—that he wanted me to be your … well, let’s face it, babysitter, I was completely skeptical about the whole thing. But I wanted to work for your father so badly that I agreed. I honestly didn’t know how I’d be able to put up with you for a whole year. After everything I’d read about you in the tabloids and seen on TV, I was sure I’d quit after one week. Or at least you would.”

  “Thanks, Luke,” I say mockingly. “I’m flattered really.”

  “But,” he says, holding up one finger, “you’ve genuinely surprised me in the last few weeks. It’s like you’ve managed to find the fun in what you’re being asked to do. The silver lining or something.”

  I think about Rolando’s father and what he said over dinner about this very subject and I can’t stop the grin from spreading across my face. “Or something.”

  “Anyway, I’m impressed. That’s all.”

  My grin widens. “Well, thanks, Luke,” I reply playfully, pulling into the parking lot of Morty’s and killing the engine. I turn to face him. “You’ve impressed me too.”

  He flashes me a curious look. “Oh really, how so?”

  “Well, for one, I never expected you to have abs like that.”

  He busts out laughing. The van is dark inside so I can’t exactly see the color of his face but I’m pretty sure it’s turned a bright shade of crimson again.

  “And,” I continue, “you’ve certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight.”

  “In what way?”

  I gesture to the inside of the van. “I don’t think delivering flowers with me on a Friday night is part of your job description.”

  He laughs again. This time it’s softer. More subdued. I’ve never noticed the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. It’s actually kind of sexy. He leans forward slightly, just close enough that I feel his energy pulling me in.

  “There are probably a lot of things I’ve done over the past few months that aren’t in the job description,” he jokes.

  But his smile fades as soon as his eyes lock on mine. He’s only a few feet away from me but suddenly it feels like miles too far. For some reason I find myself willing him with my mind to scoot closer.

  “And does that bother you?” I ask softly. “Doing things that aren’t in your job description?”

  “I guess that depends on what they are,” he breathes. Barely a whisper.

  The words draw me in and I feel the space between us closing. I’m not really sure what’s happening right now. It’s as though my mind has once again detached from my body. Just like it did back outside the dressing room. Like whatever wire connects my brain to the rest of me has suddenly snapped and there’s nothing but empty static filling my head.

  But for some unexplained reason, I find myself welcoming the white noise. Appreciating the inability to think. Because if my brain were to suddenly start working again, I know it would tell me that whatever is happening right now is wrong. Very, very wrong.

  And at this exact moment I’m not sure that’s something I want to hear.

  Luke’s lips are inches away from mine. I allow my eyes to slowly drift closed. Through the narrowing gap in my vision, I see his do the same. And right before the blissful darkness surrounds me, a shrill beeping sound snaps me awake.

  I blink and shake my head, returning blearily to reality.

  What is that noise?

  When I’m fully aware of everything around me again I notice Luke pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. “Sorry,” he says hoarsely before clearing his throat. “That’s my calendar reminder.” He glances at the screen. “Oh, darn! I’m totally late for the gallery opening. My friend is waiting for me. She said she would meet me out front. How long will it take t
o get to Silver Lake from here?”

  But I don’t answer his question. I barely even hear it. I’m too wrapped up in a certain pronoun. “She?” I ask in disbelief, and then immediately wish I had kept my mouth shut because my inflection came out totally wrong. Now it’s my turn to clear my throat. “I mean,” I continue, trying to infuse aloofness into my voice, “I didn’t realize it was a date.”

  Luke shifts uncomfortably in his seat, rubbing his palms against his new jeans. “Oh, did I not mention that?”

  I shake my head.

  “Oh. Sorry. I thought I did. I mean, it’s not really a date. Kind of. Actually, I’m not quite sure what it is. I met her on campus last week and it’s, you know, sort of unknown at this point…”

  He’s rambling now and I really need to stop him. For both our sakes. Mostly mine though. “Totally,” I respond hastily. “I mean, whatever it is … it’s none of my business. You should definitely go so you’re not … late.”

  “Is that okay?” he asks, scrunching up his face.

  “Of course it’s okay!” I trill eagerly. “It’s more than okay! I mean, I’m happy for you that you’re … you know, dating. Or whatever.”

  Okay, I warn myself. That’s enough. Time to be quiet.

  Luke chuckles nervously. “I meant is it okay if I leave? You can call someone, right?”

  “Oh, of course,” I chirp. “I’ll call Kingston. He’ll be here in a jiffy.”

  A jiffy?

  Oh God, I’m acting like such a spazz right now. And every word out of my mouth is only making it worse. I need to get out of here. I need him to get out of here.

  I grapple for the handle and kick out the door, slamming it closed behind me. Luke steps out of the passenger side, seemingly less hurried. “What about that last delivery?” he asks, nodding toward the back of the van.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it,” I assure him, running around to the back, pulling the door open, and unstrapping the bouquet from its harness. “I’ll throw it away. You can just get on your way.”

  “You’re going to throw it away?” He looks like a lost puppy when he says this.

  “Yeah. That’s usually what they do if they can’t be delivered. They’ll make a fresh one tomorrow and try again. Otherwise they’d be dead by the time we delivered them.”

  Luke looks at me and then at the ground. “Well,” he begins hesitantly, “do you mind if I take them?”

  I stare down at the flowers in my hand. “What for?” I ask lamely. But as soon as the question is out of my mouth the answer has already struck me.

  He wants to take them to his date.

  “Oh!” I say, slapping my forehead with my free hand. “Of course!” I thrust the flowers at him. He manages to catch the bouquet before it falls to the ground. “They’re all yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  Then I watch him pluck one of the pink roses from the bunch and hold it out to me. “Here,” he says.

  I reach out cautiously and accept it. “What’s this for?”

  He smiles. It instantly brightens me from the inside out. “I really did mean what I said. I think you’re doing a great job. Keep it up.”

  “Right,” I say weakly, feeling my shoulders drop and the light dim. “Thanks.”

  THE FAMILY MAN

  I have no idea what that was about back there.

  So what if Luke is going on a date? Why should I care in the slightest? I shouldn’t. So I don’t. I won’t.

  I just think he should have mentioned that up front. You know, when he first asked me for help picking out something to wear. That kind of detail is important in clothing selection. If I had known I was dressing him for a date I might have picked out something different. Maybe slightly less sexy.

  But only because you shouldn’t be overly sexy on a first date. You should dress sexy to get dates but then you’re supposed to tone it down a bit. You know, play hard to get. Leave them wanting more. Everyone knows that. It’s like the number one rule of dating.

  Kingston arrives twenty minutes after Luke leaves. I bypass the back door of the car and join him in the front. He looks surprised by my choice in seating but doesn’t question it.

  I’m not sure I’m in the mood to sit back there in the dark by myself. Even if Kingston and I don’t talk the entire way home, simply having him there next to me makes me feel safer somehow. Less secluded.

  There’s a car I don’t recognize parked in the driveway when we get home. I’m not sure who (or what) I expect to find when I walk through the front door but as soon as I lay eyes on the person who’s waiting for me, I admit I’m not terribly surprised to see her.

  “I’ve been trying to get hold of you for weeks, Lexington!” Caroline stands in the middle of the foyer with one hand on her hip and the other holding a large stack of paperwork.

  “Lovely to see you again, Caroline,” I grumble as I walk past her into the kitchen. I set the pink rose Luke gave me on the counter and grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator.

  Her heels clack against the marble floors as she tags along behind me. “I’ve left messages and sent numerous e-mails.”

  “Really?” I say with fake surprise as I unscrew the cap and take a large gulp. “I didn’t get them. Maybe I should check my spam folder.”

  I turn and head for the back stairs but Caroline is on my heels faster than a fly on food. “Don’t walk away from me, Lexi. I’ve planned an appearance for you, Rêve, and your father next week at the opening of the new Miley Cyrus movie. It’s supposed to be the family film of the year and you’re going. No ifs, ands, or buts.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m busy next week,” I say dismissively, starting up the stairs.

  She follows me. “Well, you’re going to have to get unbusy because this is very important. Your father needs the publicity. There’s a big merger in the works and if he’s going to get the support he needs from the stockholders who will be voting on it, he’s going to have to boost his public image. He’s been coming off a bit too unapproachable in the media lately. Uncaring. I’m launching a whole new publicity initiative to make him appear more affable. Like a family man. And I need your assistance.”

  I can’t help but cackle with laughter as I sweep through my bedroom door. “Can you even hear yourself? You want him to appear like a family man. You want him to pretend to be likable. And you want me to pretend that it’s working. Don’t you see that’s all we are? A bunch of people running around pretending to like each other. Pretending to get along. It’s ridiculous.”

  Seething through her clenched teeth, Caroline yanks a magazine from the stack in her arms—the latest issue of Forbes—and shoves it toward me. My father’s face is on the cover under a large, bold headline that reads: RICHARD LARRABEE: SUPERHERO OR VILLAIN?

  I have to turn back around so that she can’t see the smirk that’s creeping across my mouth. Finally someone is questioning this superstar image my father has managed to hold on to all these years. Finally someone is starting to see things from my point of view. I might actually start reading Forbes.

  “Do you see this?” she asks, tapping abrasively at the headline. “Do you see that question mark? It represents doubt. And doubt is not good for business. I was not hired to elicit doubt. I was hired to elicit confidence.”

  I take another sip of water. “Yeah, well, looks like you’ve got your work cut out for you.”

  Caroline sighs. “Why do you have to make everything so difficult, Lexi? All I’m asking for is a smidgen of your time. An hour, tops. Is it so much to ask that you put on a cute outfit, smile for the cameras, and give your father a quick hug on the red carpet? Seriously. It’s not as though I’m asking you to do manual labor here.”

  I turn back to face her. “You’re right,” I concede, and I see her shoulders drop with relief. But I’m not done. I’m only getting warmed up. “It’s not manual labor. Manual labor is what I’ve been doing nonstop for the past four months. I’ve worked myself to the b
one for that man and he deserves every single drop of bad press that he gets. In fact, I hope tomorrow the newsstand is lined with headlines like that. And I’ll tell you, I’d much rather be scooping up horse poop in a stall than dishing it out on a red carpet with him. You wanna know why my father has to pretend to be a family man? Because we’re not a family! We haven’t been one for twelve years and I’m sick and tired of pretending otherwise. I’ve seen what a family is—what they do for each other—and this is not it. So you can count me out from now on. I’m not going.”

  Then I slam my bedroom door in her face and call out, “My apologies to Miley Cyrus!”

  * * *

  Sent: Friday, September 14, 10:10 p.m.

  To: Lexington Larrabee

  From: Video-Blaze.com

  Subject: You have received a video message from Luke Carver

  CLICK HERE TO PLAY MESSAGE

  Or read the free transcript from our automated speech-to-text service below.

  [BEGIN TRANSCRIPT]

  Hey, Lexi. It’s me. Luke. So it turns out I have this built-in camera on my laptop and this is the first time I’m actually using it. Can you believe that? Yeah, you probably can.

  Well, anyway, here I am. I thought maybe I’d send you a video message for a change. You know, shake things up a bit. Not that things need to be shaken up or anything. I mean, things are perfectly fine as is. There’s really nothing wrong with the way things have been. Or are, for that matter. It was just a figure of—

  You know what, I’m rambling. I just wanted to send you a quick message to tell you thank you again for helping me with the whole wardrobe situation tonight. I guess we both went above and beyond our job descriptions, right?

  [Laughter]

  Well, anyway. Thank you. I had so much fun tonight and I owe that to you.

  So. That’s all. I better go. I have an accounting exam to study for. I guess I’ll see you on Monday morning. I hope you have a great weekend.